


it's like I got this music in my mind

by everytuesday



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Album: 1989 (Taylor Swift), College, Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, a completely self indulgent take on quentin's mental space during undergrad, featuring: both my and quentin's abiding love for taylor swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 21:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytuesday/pseuds/everytuesday
Summary: Undergrad is depressing. Sometimes pop music helps.





	it's like I got this music in my mind

**Author's Note:**

> major tw for suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation

Undergrad is a strange hellscape. Infinitely better than high school, if only because people leave him alone, rather than being adolescent dickwads determined to get a rise out of him. But it’s not the pure escapism he dreamed of and Quentin feels lonely.

Julia drags him along with her to parties and clubs and even into the back of her classes when he’s having an especially bad day, but Quentin knows she has a life outside of him (and he also knows the opposite is not true). Also, she has James. Who’s nice and sweet and tries to drag Quentin into things like Julia does, but Quentin hates third wheeling even more than he hates being alone.

(Because then he’d have to admit he’s not the most important person in Julia’s life anymore and loneliness and playing the bullshit martyr “no you guys have fun; I have homework anyway” line is so much better than facing that reality)

Quentin floats in and out of classes, cobbling together a respectable GPA. The first semester was rough but after that he’s got his shit in check and if nothing else he can do _this_ and that has to mean something. Defining your worth as a person by an arbitrary numerical value is probably not a good way to live life, as Julia frequently reminds him, but Quentin is past finding a “good” way and just wants to scrape by.

(Most of the time.)

The routines help. His alarm goes off, he rolls out of bed, pulls on a hoodie, and is faced with the dilemma of whether to rewear the dirty socks on his floor or just put on his shoes without them.

He shuffles down the stairs, out the door, and across campus to the cafeteria, where he greets the lady swiping his student ID with the biggest sleepy smile he can muster, because it’s one of those days where she’ll probably be the only person he exchanges actual human words with.

“Good morning!” she smiles wide at him and he’s kind of in love with her even though he’s pretty sure she’s old enough to be his mom.

“Thank you,” he says, putting all the effort he can into sounding sincere because god he really is grateful to talk to one other person today.

He wolfs down his breakfast around trying to double-check his grades and figure out his homework for the week. Today all he has is one four-hour class, which is long and hellish but undeniably his favorite, as it’s entirely centered on the history and significance of the fantasy genre. The professor is nice and gives good feedback on essays and he’s mentally putting her on a list of people to possibly-maybe ask for a reference when he starts applying to grad schools next semester.

When he finishes breakfast, he says goodbye to the card-swiping-lady with an over-enthusiastic smile ( _god_ he’s so pathetic) and juggles his bag and jacket as he heads out the door.

He follows the flow of students into his classroom and finds a seat that’s in a prime, front-of-middle section. He takes notes on the lecture while simultaneously checking up on the Fillory forum where he’s gotten involved in a fight over whether or not Jane Chatwin is a Mary Sue.

_jane isn’t a mary sue she’s literally based on a real person and is one of the most well-rounded female fictional characters from that era. you all just hate women._

_also oh my god why are we still having this discussion it’s been like two weeks since this topic got brought up last._

He can see someone is writing a response to his comment and he’s ready to go off. He’s really ready to just lose it on this asshole who doesn’t fucking _get it,_ but then he notices his professor moving around the classroom, saying something about changing over to beginning their final project for the class and he forces himself to close out the window and listen to the concept. He jots down a few notes and wonders if he can work his “Jane isn’t a Mary Sue” argument into it.

As soon as class is dismissed, he starts to bolt, but his professor waves him down.

“Hey Annie,” Quentin says. “Sorry, I was super spaced out today.”

“That’s fine,” she smiles at him. “It happens, that wasn’t my concern. I just wanted to add a stipulation onto the final project for you: It can’t be about Fillory.”

“This is a class on classic fantasy,” Quentin says, puzzled. “Fillory is literally--”

“The only thing you write about,” Annie says and Quentin feels a rush of embarrassment. “I know you read other books. You’re smart and I want to push you. Find something else.”

“But--”

“I’ve only banned topics for a specific student once before, in another class a few years ago. That was a student who kept trying to do literary analysis on Beyonce songs. And you know what happened?”

“They found a Destiny’s Child song instead?” Quentin tries for a joke to dam up the flood oncoming negative emotions.

“No. He wrote one of the best essays I’ve ever read on Nina Simone,” she says. “Just… think about it Quentin. There’s more out there than Fillory and I think it’d be good for you to expand your horizons.”

“Thanks,” Quentin says, backing out of the classroom as fast he can.

The dam breaks. He’s almost shaking when he gets to the stairs, has to force himself to breathe and fight back tears. It’s stupid because it’s just a paper topic and he shouldn’t feel this upset about it. She’s right; he needs to find other things to write about, it’d be good for him. But also Annie had gone out of her way to single him out and told him to stop talking about the thing he loves most in the world, so yeah, that’s a perfectly fine reason to be upset.

But she is just trying to help him. Poor, stupid Quentin and his love for stupid kids’ books. He wonders if his good grades on his other essays had just been out of pity. All her positive comments just those of a teacher trying not to crush his spirit by being honest about how awful everything he’s written has been.

(Stop spiraling, dumbass.)

Oh, so now he’s upset with himself for being upset with himself for being upset with himself. The whole thing is making his chest tight and every breath takes effort to draw in.

(Over a paper topic.)

“Fucking stop,” he hisses at himself.

As he heads down the third floor staircase, he thinks briefly about swan-diving off the next landing onto the unforgiving marble flooring below.

(He could probably break his neck if he went head-first).

(Jesus, Quentin, it’s a fucking paper. Be normal for two goddamn seconds.)

He pauses on the middle of the stairs, gripping the railing to steady himself. He tugs his earbuds out of his back pocket, smashes them into his phone, and puts on his playlist of cheesy pop music.

_It feels like a perfect night/to dress up like hipsters/and make fun of our exes._

Oh thank fuck.

He turns it up as loud as he dares and forces himself to keep walking down the steps, one at a time, still holding onto the railing.

He thinks about it every time he passes by that stupid landing, even when he’s not already upset. It’s not even a conscious choice anymore; it’s like his brain just autocompletes for him whenever he sees it.

( _Stairs….. Did you mean: Stairs to jump off of to your sudden death which will most certainly be less stressful than the five essays and crippling loneliness you have to deal with. You’re lonely because you’re fundamentally unlovable, by the way, and no one will ever care about you and--_ )

Corny pop songs pull him away from that rabbit trail of thoughts for a bit. It’s hard to have a continual cycle of self-hatred and hopelessness while there’s a catchy beat and cheerful lyrics about the joys of youth. Fundamentally unrelatable lyrics, sure, but it’s enough to distract and that’s all he needs.

Like Fillory, Taylor Swift had been an influence from Julia. They’d gone for a roadtrip the summer between high school and college and Julia had brought her entire CD collection, but decided to start out only listening to things she thought would annoy him. Several hours in they knew almost every single lyric to all four albums and it was just _fun_.

He takes a breath and as he does, his phone pings with a text. From Julia. She’s sent him an invite to hang out in her dorm later that night and hate-watch the latest _Once Upon a Time_ episode.

He texts her back a _YES OH MY GOD LET’S TEAR IT APART_

Julia replies with a series of emojis and gives him a time to come over. The next several hours he tries to focus on an alternate essay topic before giving up and going back to the “is Jane a Mary Sue?” debate until it’s time to leave for Julia’s dorm.

And then he’s curled up on her floor next to Julia in front of her laptop, feeling normal for a minute as they mess with the livestream and figure out where to put their popcorn bowl.

“Are you okay?” Julia asks, on a commercial break. “You seem really quiet.”

“I’m okay. My professor in the fantasy class just banned me from Fillory,” Quentin says. “So. That kind of sucks.”

“Why?” Julia asks, annoyed on his behalf.

“Because it’s all I write about? She has a point, it’s just,” he chooses his words carefully, not wanting to worry Julia, “put me into a weird mood. And I have that stupid class tomorrow with the professor I hate.”

“How’s that going?” Julia asks.

“He’s an asshole and his quizzes are impossible. You know he slammed this kid’s laptop shut in the middle of class? I think he had Facebook open, but still! And before you ask, yes, I gave him a horrible review on ratemyprofessor.”

“I did too,” she admits. “I’ll literally never take a class from him because he’s not even in my department, but I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Jules,” he says, cracking a grin at her. “Anyway, I’m gonna ditch tomorrow to go to Target and get the new Taylor Swift album.”

“Tomorrow?” Julia asks. “I thought it was already out.”

“Just the first single,” Quentin says. “I kind of thought about making a paper chain counting down to the release date, but that seemed like overkill. So I set an alarm on my phone calendar instead.”

Julia laughs. “Okay. But…. you know the closest Target is like an hour and a half away by train, right?”

“Yeah,” Quentin shrugs. “They’re supposed to have the deluxe edition there. I mean I don’t know why I’m bothering to get a physical CD. I think it’s a journey over destination thing.” He’s already given a ton of thought to why he’s going to Target for a physical copy that he’ll never use and it’s because for the last month and a half he hasn’t seen sunlight for more than the quick walk it takes between campus buildings. He _needs_ this trip.

“Okay. Well have fun with that,” Julia smiles at him fondly. “I’d go with you but my professor is kicking my ass about attendance and also I’m gonna get it on digital.” The commercial fades out and she grabs his shoulder, “Oh shhh, it’s coming back on.”

Quentin watches Julia more than he watches the show, cracking up over her animated yelling at the screen. Her roommate comes in to tell them to shut up just as the episode ends and Julia waves her off. Quentin gives her a hug goodbye and trudges back across campus to his dorm.

\---

Quentin’s alarm for class goes off and he makes the conscious choice to ignore it. He hasn’t properly skipped a class yet since he started, but this feels like a needed exception. The campus therapist he’s tried to see a few times told him to work on self-care anyway, so this has to count for some of that. Everyone needs a mental health day.

He puts in his earbuds for the trip over and reslistens to older albums while he checks twitter for reactions, all of which seemed to be positive. Not that he’d ever had any doubt about that.

On the ride over, he people watches and soaks up the sun whenever he switches buses. He forgot how much he liked being outside, how good the sun feels on his skin.

He gets off the last bus and has to walk the rest of the way, but it’s a good walk that involves him getting to pet three dogs.

He finally walks in the door and finds the display near the back of the store. He snags a copy and goes to self-checkout, not wanting to get into a whole thing with anyone about it. It’s still somewhat embarrassing, even if it is a lifeline.

He spends the return trip messing with the case absently. As soon as he gets back to his dorm he jams it into his laptop and downloads the songs onto his phone. Shoving in his earbuds, he lies back on his bed and just listens.

_Walking through a crowd/The village is aglow/Kaleidoscope of loud/Heartbeats under coats_

It’s good. It’s great, even. Unironically, he’s enjoying himself and by the time the third songs starts playing, he’s back outside, wandering around campus just listening, smiling and feeling a little lighter, a little more hopeful.

Maybe it doesn’t mean anything deep, no song he relates to on some profound level, but it’s still something. He can latch onto it, drown out the noise in his head, and just exist in the world as a person for a bit.

Sunlight on his face, pop music in his ears.

_It’s gonna be alright._

**Author's Note:**

> I realized Quentin and I would've overlapped in undergrad by a year, and during the first semester of that year Taylor Swift's iconic 1989 was released. It was something I latched onto a lot during the worst periods of my own depression and since we know Quentin both a) likes Taylor Swift and b) has chronic depression, the connection was right there. So this is basically just 2000 words of me projecting onto Quentin.


End file.
